


Tart

by snazzelle



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Bakery AU, Daryl is an awkward turtle, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rick thinks thats adorable and wants to feed him pastries, Teasing, daryl has a sweet tooth, mentioned past abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-04
Updated: 2014-09-04
Packaged: 2018-02-16 02:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2252907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snazzelle/pseuds/snazzelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a boy that visits every week on the same day and orders the same thing over and over again. Rick has his face memorized by heart and one day, he asks for his name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tart

**Author's Note:**

> This thing has been sitting in my drafts for MONTHS. I just wanted to write somethingn non-smutty for once ._. so here is my bakery AU
> 
> installments can be far and inbetween. as is ALL my work jfc. sorry i'm so slow guys

 “Hey look, Rick. He's back.”

 

He feels a nudge to his ribs as he's rolling out pastry dough, looking over the counter into the dining area where he sees the familiar straight brown hair, and sleepy blue eyes flittering over his direction before back down at the table where he's nursing a cup of milky coffee. Shane raises an eyebrow teasingly and Rick rolls his eyes at him before they're dragging back over to the man across the room, meeting those eyes that dared a peak up before they're back down staring into his cup. Shane laughs.

 

“Ya wanna get his name, or number, or...?”

 

“Shut up, Shane.” Rick grouses lightly and kicks the waiter out of his kitchen. Right on time as an oven beeps and he leaves his station to tend to that, bringing out the fresh macaron disks too cool. He notices Shane up at that man's table and he nearly hurries over when his costumer curls in a little bit on himself. But then Shane was moving back, and the man was getting up, and together they moved closer to the back of the cafe where Rick is, mixing together a flavored buttercream.

 

He needs it tinged a little bit pink, but with his eyes on Shane and the other, he gets it darker than usual. It frustrates Rick a little bit, but its just the culinary student still in him that throws a silent fit. He's close enough to hear the rasp of the man's voice and his shy answers to Shane's needless questions. Shane leaves eventually to cater to the other patrons, but he leaves the other man facing him in his seat, back to the room. Its a little awkward, and he could see it in the other's wide shoulders.

 

Rick finds some rose extract and pours just a little into the mixture. Occasionally he looks up and smiles at the man watching him, snickering quietly to himself when he'd look away and bury his nose in his coffee. While the other wasn't looking, he grabs a clean silver spoon and wipes the back of it over the top of the cream, and bends over the edge of his counter just a bit to get his attention.

 

“Come here, would you? Try this.”

 

The other leans back even though there was a good four feet between them. He looks nervous and its present in his voice when he says, “I ain'- I ain't know nothin' 'bout-”

 

“Come on. You're here every week gettin' this same thing I'm makin' now. You know jus' as well as I do.” Rick's smile is encouraging, but the man remains seated, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he eyes the confection. Rick drops his chin, his smile widening just a little more, “Before the macarons get cold...”

 

“Yer makin' macarons?” The question and the light in his eyes makes Rick laugh softly and shortly, but he quiets and shakes his head when the stranger doesn't know what to make of the reaction and frowns. Rick tries for demure and he holds the spoon out for Daryl to come get.

 

“Every Wednesday at this time.” He doesn't include how he times it so that the cookies were coming fresh out of the oven so that the bakery was filled with the unmistakable smell of macaron cookies. “I'm Rick, by the way.”

 

He looks up at him and Rick could almost pin the color of his eyes, almost but not quite – something he's seen in the ocean when the surf hits the beach. Rick tilts his head, arms still held out and the other figures he wasn't going to give up, so he stands and walks the short distance to Rick's counter and takes the spoon. He watches a pink tongue dart out over the spoon before thin lips wrap around it, only to pull out clean. Rick huffs in amusement.

 

“Good?”

 

“S'perfect.” And the spoon was set on the other side of the counter where it wouldn't be a bother. He shuffles a bit on his feet and Rick can feel his eyes on him as he grabs the tray with the cookie disks that were cooled to his liking, watching as he spoons the butter cream into a piping bag. He tries to move away, but then Rick says over the counter,

 

“Stay where ya are. You get first bite.”

 

And he stands there, watching Rick work and doing his best to ignore the people behind him, foot tapping slow and steady on the tile floor. Rick only does five, despite the row holding twelve, and he's sandwiching butter cream between macaroons cookies before he's turning towards the other. He opens his hand and Rick simply places it there.

 

“Go on.”

 

The first bite into it makes the man sigh with a small honest smile on his pursed lips, cheeks full and a little flushed from the warmth of the close by ovens. Rick is smiling proudly and he wants to ask if he got it right, even though he _knows_ he did. He just wants to say something, anything to hear that man talk. Before he could even stop himself, even though his mind was mixing together questions over what he thought about the cafe, about the coffee, about his bakery, he actually lets slip a question a little too personal. Rick tries to take it back, red in the cheeks and a hand spreading flour over the back of his neck. The stranger looks at him wide eyed, index finger in his mouth sucking the last of the buttercream from his skin and then says,

 

“M'name's Daryl.”

 

“Daryl.” Rick sighs and he feels silly for over reacting. He repeats his name just to feel it roll off his tongue, “Daryl... you'll come back soon?” It feels like a firework goes off in his chest when Daryl ducks his head and nods.

 

“Soon.”

 

–

 

Daryl comes by two days later, looking a little lost when his usual seat by the window was taken over by a couple of college students. He stands there like a dark shadow with the backdrop of a sunny yellow cafe, shambling out of the way from people who walks in and out with purpose. Shane was on him in an instant, taking him round back where Rick was brushing glaze over raspberry and blackberry tarts. He could hear Shane's voice over the muffled clamor of the cafe and bakery, making him smile to himself as he kept his eyes over his confections.

 

“The usual, man? Cup of milk and sugar with a sprinkle of actual coffee?” Rick tries not to laugh when Daryl mutters something mean and Shane walks off with that amused mumble.

 

He looks up and Daryl is watching him again, but Daryl doesn't look away like he used to. Rick doesn't speak first, just watches as Daryl struggles with himself to come up with things to say. He finds it endearing as Daryl's lips pull in towards his teeth, hiding the pink of them until his mouth is only a shadowed line. He spends his time placing the tarts on a silver tray to be taken out into the bakery.

 

“What're ya makin'?” Daryl finally asks and Rick raises an eyebrow because these treats weren't exactly exotic and unknown. Daryl figures how stupid his question was and he colors accordingly, almost as red as the raspberries sitting in a glass bowl. “I mean – I, um.”

 

“Would you like to try one?” Rick asks. Daryl looks at him with uncertainty before he's nodding . The nod is all Rick sees and he's excitedly plating two, one of each, on a small long dish. He even comes around his counter to put it front of Daryl.

 

He feels his heart warming when the other seems to flush at his proximity and he places the plate carefully in front of him. He's there before Shane is with his coffee, but the man is there and gone with a knowing laugh. The sound doesn't even filter.

 

“Yer gonna watch me eat this too?” Daryl asks dryly, the edges of his lips curled upward in a small grin. He holds up a pastry cup with the blackberry nestled on top and Rick can't help but notice the shape of his hands and the blunt tips of his fingers. He shrugs, a little distracted, but he stares into Daryl's eyes to be polite and even takes the seat in front of him. Daryl actually startles at this. “Aren't'cha workin'? I don' want ya to get 'n trouble er nothin'.”

 

Rick shakes his head and he grabs the napkin in front of him to worry between his fingers over the table. “Finished noon time's pastries. I got time.”

 

“Well...” Daryl starts, and he looks down. He does that a lot and Rick figures the other doesn't hold people's stare very often, “Y'could eat too, or do _somethin'-”_

 

“Just try it, Daryl.” Rick finally presses and he makes sure the other sees the happy smile on his face, wants him to know he's happy to see him here. “I'm sorry 'bout not havin' those macarons today.”

 

“S'okay. Could try somethin' new, ya know?” And he brings the tart up to eye level like he's studying it.

 

Rick leans back and his brows go low over his eyes, lips pursed in the beginning of a question. “Wh- you're tellin' me you've never had one of those before?”

 

“Ain't got treats like these back home in the back country.” He doesn't notice how Rick expression twists with disbelief the more Daryl talks, “Came ta town and waltz in'na this bakery. First thing I had was yer macarons.” He brings the pastry close to his mouth and he nibbles on a corner, surprised when it breaks off before his lips and some of it crumble onto the table. “'m'sorry!”

 

Rick already had his hand out, close enough his fingers brush over Daryl's chest to catch some of the crumbs. Daryl's cheeks pinken darkly as he brushes over his goatee. “Nothin' to apologize about. You didn't even get to the best part.” Rick wants to dab at the shiny bit on his lip where it caught on the glazed berry before he flipped, but he pulled back instead and dropped the crumbs into a napkin. Daryl licks it off instead and he's looking back down at the pastry in hand. “Warnin' ya, there's a bit of a kick.”

 

“Y'mean sour.” Daryl says bluntly and Rick shrugs and nods, his grin becoming a little bit lopsided. Most people liked their tarts that way. Daryl pops the rest of it in his mouth and his teeth cuts through the berry, attacking his tastebuds with the sweetness but so overpowered with the sour he actually makes a face. He could feel his cheeks ache as the muscles in his face tighten.

 

Rick laughs and its bright and attractive that Daryl couldn't get angry as his whole body shakes with his mirth. He presses the heal of his palm to his mouth and swallows it down, sending him a playful glare as Rick wipes the corner of his eyes with the back of his wrist.

 

“You didn't like it?” He asks and Daryl almost hates that Rick has to ask that question. Daryl takes up the other tart and his hand hesitates before his mouth. Rick shakes his head, reaching out to put his hand over Daryl's forearm, “I understand. It isn't for everyone.” His smile is gentle.

 

Daryl drops his head, but he doesn't drop his hand. “It's good, man. Mean it.” He even convincingly takes a bite out of the tart, careful so the crumbs won't hit the table and his tastebuds wouldn't get overwhelmed. Its better this time now that he knows what's coming, but he still doesn't quite _love_ it.

 

Rick notices that Daryl doesn't savor it like he does his macarons, but the expression is so darn cute it's almost worth it. Daryl places the pastry back on the plate and it doesn't look like he's going to pick it up again, his fingers covered in crumbs and sugar glaze and held out before him as he chews. He shakes his head fondly and nods his head toward his coffee, “Go wash it out, Daryl.”

 

“It wasn't bad.” Daryl mutters, although it looks like he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince Rick. He licks his fingers and they're sweeter than the tarts, sucking on his thumb as to get the last bit of sugar. He pulls it away when he notices Rick watching and wipes his hands over his napkin.

 

“Here.” Rick snickers quietly and plucks the berry off of the pastry revealing the custard underneath, “Eat that. Sweeter like that.”

 

Daryl takes up the tart and munches on it, this time relaxing and enjoying the treat without the candied berry. Rick rolls it over the napkin with a finger, enjoying the way Daryl's sharp features express joy. It reminds him why he is in this sort of profession and his heart lightens at how this man makes that feeling brim up like new.

 

“Ya like that?”

 

“Mhmm.” Daryl looks up at him under his brows, widening up those slitted eyes, making him look childish with wonder. “Ain't gonna beat yer macorons, though.”

 

“Nothin' beats my macorons.” Rick grins and then adds a bit slyly, “Except maybe my apple pies. Come back tomorrow?”

 

Daryl seems to blush at being asked to come back, but he nods. Rick is so happy he smiles throughout his next shift, making sweets and hoping they find Daryl's plate as the man dines in for his mid-afternoon meal.

 

 


End file.
